Lovely Lonely
by PaperBackWalker
Summary: It has been a long time since the FACE family have bonded together. What lead to this separation? What is France's secret? Why is Canada acting so cheerful and America so different? With England sick, will the others come to his aid? Or will his destiny be for them to part their separate ways?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It has been 3 months and he was still suffering. The pain had recided a little as the days wore on but other times dying seemed more and more real. Now today was the 64 day that he had been home at the cottage. The place echoed with grief and loneliness and was sometimes disrupted by the birds outside or by the sun deciding to come into view.

He had lost over ten unhealthy pounds in scarcely a month alone and his eyes were filled with sadness as he let the sunshine settle upon his skin from his house windows, clean and untouched . His skin was fare as it tended to be but was more like the color of charcoal in the shadows. He had cried and sweated through many nights now till it almost seemed hopeless to keep trying for all he longed for at that point was to sleep and dream of better things. THough many times his dreams were strange and unknown. This was because of his very off schedule where he would need to eat more during the night and perhaps gulp down a pint of water too. It was dreadful.

Fear had corrupted his soul almost entirely.

The shook with anxiety and sickness that was consuming him in this time and made him feel wasted. Happiness was dissolving from within him as all of the current events were catching up and beating him down till he was too afraid to wander alone. He lay on the couch for countless hours at a time watching anything that came of interest and contained little-to-no sadness. Or else it seemed to remind him of his troubles and then it would start up again.

He cried out in his sleep countlessly. He wanted to scream but was too frightened to. He had desperately wanted that face to appear. To call his name. He had listened but there was nothing. People had left him over and over and now it was his family that was there. The ones he had thought he had hated for so long were now helping him. Still he longed for a call or a sign. It was almost pitiful to think of such a thing.

He lay there on the carpet as the tears escaped.

".. A-A (he shivered)Ameri-ca. F-f-fr-ance.."

England lay on the soft carpet till his breathing soon had returned to normal and he rose.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The sun was in the sky high above when Matthew woke from his peaceful night's sleep. He had happily dreamt of what was to come, summer festivities and nice warm sun-filled days where he would work most of the time, but when he was free he would take the opertunity to enjoy himself for the many months to come.

He stood up from beside his bed and stretched in front of his window that contained a nice view of his lawn below. It needed mowing which would have to be done soon for he would be gone and by the time he would return the grass would be twice as thick. As he finished stretching he slowly made his way downstairs, not bothering to put on his glasses yet. He could see well enough and was normally too tired to wear them and would wait until he was fully groomed.

Matthew fixed himself a bowel of cereal of wheat-and-oats on of his favorites and a brand he got for free thanks to his line of work. Though the boxes were starting to pile up in the garage again. As he had finished his first bowl he glanced at his blurry calender on his fridge revealing the date. He couldn't quite make it out but was sure it was the 19th of May.

This week was the week of the big festival that was going to be held near the states this year and America had decided to come so now he was busy making sure that the weekend would be open for them. America may be a pain in the rear for some people but would always be considered a close brother to Matthew, even if the guy seemed to se-through him sometimes.

He finished two bowls and then drank the rest of the milk and hopped in the shower and got ready for the day. By the time he was done, it was 9:07.

The phone rang just as Matthew had finished combing his long, stubborn curls that tended to frizz at the ends and he walked quickly over to answer it. Caller ID read: Alfred F. Jo-the rest was cut off. He picked up the phone and answered with a simple, "Hello?"

"Hey man! Did you just wake up?" spoke Alfred loudly from the other end.

"A while ago, just took a shower. What's up?"

"Just getting my crap together for the week. I heard that the Eagles are going to be playing at the grammys this year and-wow" he cut off gasping a bit at the end in non-belief. Matthew chuckled a little. "Also Benedict Cumberbatch is going to be at the oscars for a nomination and if I could just get an autograph.."

"You do know he's British, right?"

"So? That's what's so freaking sweet about it! When we finally saw Sherlock I just-He's just-"

Matthew cut him off, "So are you ready for the festival this weekend?"

"Hell yeah dude. Are you sure that you want to pick me up? I mean, I am closer."

"Like it matters, I'll pick you up around 1 or 2, does that work?"

"Sure, yeah. Hey, should I bring my hats?"

"Uhh, if you want.."

"Haha I'm bringing them."

"Sweet."

"Alright, I got to get to work, talk to you later Mattie."

"Okay, later.":

Alfred hung up.

Matthew pushed down on the button to end the call and set the phone back to charge. He sighed and got his stuff together for work. He was going to head to a logging business today and help cut up some trees so it wouldn't be as thick a forest. He liked a bit of hard work here and there to go by and keep this figure in order or as Francis, his former father, used to say:"It is not always what is inside that will make them fall for you" or something like that.

He packed his lunch and then started his truck. As he drove away from his house, dust kicked up from his tires leaving a trail of dry fog behind him as he drove further down the dirt road and then onto the connecting highway.

Matthew turned up the radio once he had crossed over to highway 73 to his destination. A newscast was currently on this station and he quickly changed it to some tunes. He then check to see if he had forgotten his phone again but this time he found it in his pocket and relief spread over him.

The vehicle clicked on the pavement with the rotation of the tires and was soon to be gone as the roar of the engine slowly died away.

* * *

"... My Mother, was very different from my Father. She had radiant skin and I loved her a lot. My Father ... well, he was a bit-more of a brute. Or I thought he was. He taught me all of the traditions of his ways so I could continue to pass them on but was very forceful. That might be where I get some of his personality.."

The man across the room in his work chair scribbled down on his notepad for a few seconds while the other man on the couch stared up at the ceiling. His long, blonde hair spread upon the arm of the couch like a silky blanket down to his shoulder. He sighed at the ceiling with his legs crossed resting at the other end of the couch and waited for the other man with a very distinct, black moustache to finish writing.

The man with the notepad also sighed and looked up at the other man staring up on the couch.

"It seems that is all the time we have today. Do you have any questions?"

The man on the couch sat up, unaware of the time and glanced at the clock above the right side of the man. He fixed his frizzy hair and long sleeves.

"No, I think I am good till next week."

It was sunny outside for which you couldn't really tell because of the curtains from inside where the therapy session had taken place. Francis, the man on the sidewalk, had been taking these lessons for better use of his time and to avoid feeling like he would go insane and other countries might feel after centuries of bloodshed and their long lifespans. This was the bitter side of things but was often ignored as a frequent conversation for some took it as offensive or still had a grudge for what was now in the past.

Now Francis would walk among the tourists that would usually be wandering about and occasionally wave to which he would return the wave along with a soft smile. Inside of this rather slender figure, was a more confined spirit that would never want to hurt another person and would sometimes be tempted to shy away from crowds to explore more quiet streets that were solemnly crossed.

He headed towards the market that was made up of a large spread of freshly baked goods that varied from breads, fruits, vegetables, and meats. These were all sold from covered tents that stretched downtown and was full of buzz and mouth watering smells.

Francis calmly walked over to one that held fresh grapes and picked a bundle. He tossed one casually into his mouth and crushed it, letting the fruit burst and fill his tastebuds. Then after feeling satisfied with the taste, put the rest of them in a sack and got out his wallet.

While doing so a nearby customer caught his eye. A young boy, around the age of ten, stood close to what appeared to be his mother talking with one of the workers. He starred up at Francis after seeing him slyly take a grape and seemed to have grown with interest. Or in other words, thought that Francis was stealing.

Francis continued standing from where he was, now taking a full view of the boy. The with a smile, winked at him, giving the cashier his money, and turning away without a word.

He arrived home at dusk and quick threw in some rolls to go with his left over lasagna and sat down in his living room to watch a soap. As it grew darker and he was now finished with his meal, Francis decided to take the time to read one he had been trying to finish for a while bit could not due to his busy schedule: The Count of Monte Cristo. After a good hour's read, he checked the time and decided to call it a day and got into his night clothes and got ready for bed. He took his pills and washed his face before finally going under the covers.

As he lay awake for a few minutes, he waited for his brain to slow to a pace. It had been packed with unexpected drama and hard work but luckily it was now time to rest and close his eyes. He was finally under as his phone buzzed.

An unreceived call from England.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

England sat alone at his tea table in thought. He had so little to worry about but could also name hundreds of things that could happen when he was by himself. Choking was one of them. It sounded silly when he thought hard about it, but it lately had grown into a problem for him and his recent weakness that now corrupted him: anxiety and depression.

It had been the sort of issue for as long as he could remember though it never was an extreme problem. He had simply ignored that thought in his brain and had carried on with whatever he had been doing previously. Though, the day came when he became incredibly sick with chills and diarrhea, forcing him to stay home for an entire week. After this occurrence, he became aware of his fears that seemed to strike at him from all directions. There were many days he felt he couldn't even leave his house out of the fear of the unknown. But the biggest factor was that he had no one to turn to. No friends who had his back, no close family members willing to rush to his aid, and the crushing guilt of scarcely leaving the house and not attending meetings that were set in advance.

The whole problem was nearly uncontrollable, or so it seemed to England. Constantly fighting against himself and sometimes loosing was petrifying. It didn't take long until Parliament got involved with the happenings and soot it best that he looked into counseling.

Now not that therapy was exactly new to him, England was almost hesitant as to whether this would be helpful or not. What he had was nearly unexplainable. It was like something, a disease or demon, was taking over him and making him feel anything but normal. He went ahead anyways with it.

The first place he visited was far off in the country and took place in a small, cottage. He met a Professor who stated his past experiences with his patients and gave a quite clear statement that he was not a hospital doctor, but one that helped with the mind and body. England sat for a few sessions before the man stated that he would be out for the winter. Knowing he would be in further need of help, England then kept an eye out for other doctors of similar professions. Luckily, he came in contact with another, older man who was an experienced therapist that believed that he could help with England's problem.

After his first few sessions, it seemed as though he wasn't very much better and was always left with a stack of homework to try on his own. It was trying hard to drive him mad with anger and envy, but after trying again and harder his state had improved considerably.

From pills to therapy to more pills and new things his body that was undergoing it felt very chaotic to which he wasn't used to at all. Between the pain and the madness that would slowly start to settle in, he almost wondered what had kept him going. America was no longer a very close relative of his and France seemed so nearby, but seemed to be always occupied with his suspiciously busy schedule.

In the end it had become lonely. He was home a lot with the animals that lived with him in his rather large home. He had recalled in the past enjoying the peace and luxury of being away from other citizens after a busy day, though now it was fear that striked unexpectedly. The fear of immediate death and being alone with no one to come to his aid was gruesome to think about. He had a lot of time with his thoughts which might have been helpful but in his case shattered all of his confidence of ever getting better and standing tall for the people of the community.

For now it has gone from two horrible months to four months to a total of eight months with his problem. He had made progress with the therapy and medicines prescribed to him with exercises to try to calm his mind and improve his well-being. In his own mind, he thought that perhaps this would be better if he actually tried harder at his studies. It was difficult for him to hold his concentration to listen to boring cd recordings, read all of the articles given and practice them daily. If good results were promising, then it made it easier, but never the less he still had problems holding interest when he felt nearly normal.

For England, the clock had been ticking more quickly and it seemed to be running short. He knew he needed to focus and overcome this disease of his, though it seemed to be slow and confusing. He wanted some human support but other times he felt that in his natural state he was always better off by himself and not surrounded by faces. He thought more about himself and then realized how clueless he was.

Though time soon paid off; his interest in painting and drawing were gradually returning to him along with his love of the outdoors. The fear of being outside alone had begun to subside and grow smaller. Though when it seemed that a problem was starting to be fixed, another would arise. Allergies, colds, even old habits were now popping up now and again. This made things more annoying…

An alternative was always distracting himself but lately he had found himself becoming more aware of the fact that he was now less mobile than the others who were out more frequently now. It hadn't bothered him much before, for he too was among all of the commotion and fast pace. Now he was more slow and hesitant towards his actions and the results that were most likely to happen and play them out in his head. This may have not been the best way of seeing things for England, but being half normal (or at least what he would call normal) was difficult to obtain sometimes and took a decent amount of effort until he felt relaxed and confident.

With a great amount of effort, he would once in a while contact America, though with also great difficulty. To England it seemed useless, or more tiresome after a while for he was always the one trying to continue the one-sided conversation. He felt that perhaps it was time to let go and maybe move on, but something inside of him reminded him of all the times they had spent together. Wasn't this suppost to be a lifelong friendship? They may have been family once, and he had accepted that, though why now was he feeling tossed out and helpless?

As for France, well, it had started with a surge of feelings. He had been uncomfortable with him for some time though dealt with him all the same. France had allowed himself to be very concealing lately and well also quite open with what whatever was on his mind whether it was spearing or pointing out England's sense of style.

Other than that their relationship was good. England felt that they both suffered as though equally and somehow had the ability to understand each other through all the fighting and occasional nonsense. England was just as preservative as France and they both had strong wills towards their own opinions though could be kind towards one another verses the 17th Century.

England poured the rest of the cold tea down the drain and rubbed his eyes. He had rarely ever cried but sometimes he had crying spells and depressing spells as well. He often ignored the therapy that was given to him now feeling that it was not telling him enough-and rather because he simply did not want to hear it. He now spent his days trying to work but lately had been feeling down and unable to move around with high spirits. Then he would lie away upstairs and watch the telly for some hours to cheer him up. Sometimes he would dose off and then wake to listen to the missed calls on his answering machine.

Today he heard an interesting voice leave a message for him.

"England-you forgot to sign last month's bill for Parliament. Please either call me back or come to my office. I'll be here til five."

England checked the clock-he had barely half an hour. He quickly washed his face and grabbed his bike. He happened to be nearby after renting the apartment for another previous appointment. The tight roads of traffic where occupied by small taxis that honked as England sped by, his bike already at high speed. He was making good time as his cell phone rang.

He quickly grabbed it from his pocket and checked the number. He made a small gasp and chuckled under his breath.

"Of all times America-"

He made a sharp turn down another street and skidded to a stop for the light and to catch his breath. He took the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey bro, what's up?"

"Uh-" (the light turned green) trying to race against time here. Maybe another time, later? Is it important?" said England as he tried to balance between biking and holding the phone to his ear.

"I just had a chance to talk. Kinda busy-

A long bus honked loudly, cutting America off.

"Sorry, in town. I'll call you back then. K?"

"Sure," replied America plainly.

"K, later then" as England made a sharp movement to end the call and put it in his pocket without falling.

In less than 30 seconds he was there. With a few more minutes to go, he bravely stepped into the office where a lady at the front desk was waiting.

"Hello, I'm Kirkland. I'm here to sign something?"

She looked up from her computer. England's breathing was becoming more relaxed and steady, he smiled lightly at her.

"Let's see.. Kirkland. . . " she checked on her computer, "Arthur Kirkland, yes I have the document right over here if you would just follow me."

"Thank you," said England, and then followed her.

The signing took longer than England had expected. He was imagining signing just a slip of paper, but there were several and with plenty of very small print that would need to be read over for safety reasons. He stayed past their closing time with permission from the front desk and then finally was done by eight-o-clock.

He rubbed his eyes again, his stomach now very hungry and was thinking of the nearest pub and if he had any money with him. There were always leftovers. He went out a lot usually but couldn't recall when he last made a grand public appearance.

He exited the building and grabbed his bike. No-it couldn't possibly-

His tire was flat and he still had three more blocks to go before he could reach a restaurant. Sighing, he pushed his bike along, yawning and tried to think.

His phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket multiple times. He took it out: 3 new messages, all texts. Two from his agents and another from America…

He opened it: _Hey, if you could call me back before eight that would be great._

"What a rhymer.." England mumbled as he pushed call. It slowly began to ring before he finally hear a voice.

"Yellow?"

"Hey-sorry I didn't call sooner. I had to fill out some paperwork-

The line suddenly made a huge crack.

"Yellow? Hey. Iggy? Ya there?"

The phone remained silent for a moment before the fuzz went away.

"This your friend?" said another voice, "He aint' callin' no more today" as the deep voice made a loud growl and the line went completely dead.

America paused. What the hell?

He quickly redialed.

 _Sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected-_

America hung up and then put his glasses on and went to the fridge where other numbers were taped. He quickly dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hello~?"

"Yo-France. Matty. It's England. He's in trouble."


End file.
